


a welcome distraction

by mixtapestar



Series: a promising vacation [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Exhaustion, M/M, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation, Rimming, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Eliot has been working too hard, burning himself out. After a push from Margo, Quentin puts a stop to it.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: a promising vacation [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964122
Comments: 15
Kudos: 85
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	a welcome distraction

**Author's Note:**

> For Comfortween Day 20: Maybe Don’t Give 110%... (exhaustion, overwork, needing to be convinced to take a break). I switched prompts 18 & 20 to keep this particular sub-series chronological.
> 
> Thanks to Hoko for your wonderful support and Rubi for improving my words. You're both amazing! <3

"I need you to do something about Eliot," Margo says, pulling Quentin aside, wearing her serious face.

It's Saturday night, one week since Penny cornered him and tried to be encouraging in his weird, Penny way about talking to Eliot. Quentin hasn't followed his advice. He'd fully intended to stay in his room for this week's party, but Julia had shown up at his door shortly after ten and all but yanked him downstairs.

Quentin sighs, pulling out of Margo's grasp. "I doubt he'll listen to me. _You're_ his best friend, why can't you do it?"

"Okay, one, because I've been working my ass off too, and I deserve this break, thank you. And two, because it's not just that he's working himself to death. He _misses_ you. When I go check in on how his project is going, your name comes up way more often than it has any right to."

Quentin flushes, sipping at his drink and trying to wrap his head around that. "I've tried to see him. It's not like I've been staying away." That's not entirely true, but he can only handle being turned away so many times in a week.

Margo's look says she doesn't believe him either. "Try harder. Pull out some of that sex appeal you were touting at Encanto Oculto. You had him wrapped around your finger that week."

Quentin coughs, nearly inhaling his drink. "I _did_?"

Margo smirks. "He doesn't let just anyone fuck him, you know."

 _Oh._ Well that's—good information to have. "You really think that will work?"

Margo shrugs. "Worth a shot, right? Something tells me you need it as much as he does."

He downs the rest of his drink in one swallow. "Okay. I'll try."

***

He makes his way to the library in darkness, savoring the chill of the air. He finds Eliot in the same room he has every time, and, taking Margo's advice, uses a spell to unlock the door rather than asking to be let in.

His breath catches when he steps within the privacy wards and sees the sphere of energy surrounding Eliot, lighting him up and tousling his hair. His fingers are working feverishly in a series of tuts Quentin couldn't dream of keeping up with. As Quentin watches, spellbound, he can't help but think of those fingers tangling in his hair, caressing him, turning him on in a thousand different ways. He sees the moment Eliot notices his presence, his fingers faltering and the spell falling a moment later, a pen and notebook dropping to the ground as it fails. Quentin winces. "Sorry."

Eliot sighs. "Don't be. It wasn't going the way I wanted it anyway." He brushes his hand through his hair, and Quentin takes a couple of steps closer. His eyes are bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled, and the room around them is a mess.

"When's the last time you slept?" Eliot eyes the corner of the room, and Quentin turns to see a pile of clothes and—is that a blanket? "Have you been _sleeping_ in here?" God, no wonder Quentin hasn't seen him.

"I got a good three hours… sometime. Earlier. I'm fine."

"Okay, well that's the _least_ convincing thing you could've said. You're talking to the _king_ of 'I'm fine,' but nice try."

"What are you doing here, Q?" Eliot asks, floating his notebook back up from the floor. While his hands had moved so confidently in the earlier spell, they seem to be shaking now. Quentin stops himself short of reaching out to try to still them.

"I'm here to get you to take a break. You're hurting yourself, El."

Eliot barks out a laugh at that. Quentin can't for the life of him figure out what's funny. "It's nothing to the hurt that'll come when I fail out at the finish line and they take three years' worth of memories from me."

He looks about five seconds from a breakdown, and Quentin would know. So he stops holding himself back and closes the distance between them, pulling Eliot into a hug even as he tenses. "We're not going to let that happen. You've got plenty of time, but you've gotta accept help. And you've gotta take care of yourself."

Gradually, Eliot relaxes into the hug, letting out a small whimper as Quentin starts rubbing his back. "I've missed you," Eliot says, barely above a whisper.

"I missed you too." Quentin pulls back from the tightness of their embrace, not letting go, but leaning back enough to look up at Eliot. "Do you realize I haven't even seen you in almost two weeks?"

Eliot frowns as if this doesn't compute. "What day is it?"

"It's Saturday. The 19th."

"Jesus," Eliot says, rubbing a knuckle against his eye. Something hardens in his expression that has Quentin frowning. "You shouldn't be wasting your time here on a Saturday. I bet the Cottage is throwing a rager; you could have any number of very willing partners to have fun with."

Seriously? This again? Quentin makes a frustrated noise and cups the back of Eliot's neck to pull him down into a bruising kiss. Eliot responds in kind, fitting his big hands across Quentin's hips, and Quentin backs him up until he's got his back pressed against the wall. "I don't know how else to say it, El, so I'll just be blunt. I don't want any other partners, okay? I just want you."

Eliot blinks down at him slowly. "Oh."

"Yeah, ' _oh_ ,'" Quentin snaps back, swiping his lips across Eliot's again before shifting, biting at Eliot's neck, sucking a mark below his ear.

"Fuck," Eliot says, breathing heavily. "I guess I could go for some stress relief."

Quentin runs a hand up the inside of Eliot's thigh, stopping just shy of the outline of his cock. "I will absolutely suck you off, if you want. But you have to come back with me to the Cottage first."

Eliot looks conflicted for a moment, his eyes darting from Quentin's mouth to the notes scattered about the room.

"El, please. You're going to burn yourself out. Like, literally. You're using a fuckton of magic for that spell. And then you won't be able to finish at all." He presses his thigh up between Eliot's legs, rubbing deliberately. "Let me take your mind off everything for a while. You'll feel better."

He can spot the moment Eliot starts to cave. He pulls him back into a kiss, licking into Eliot's mouth with a promise of what's to come. When Eliot starts to grind back against his thigh, whining slightly, Quentin knows he's won. "C'mon, let me take you to my room."

Quentin casts Robast's Concealment Charm over both of them before they get too close to the Cottage. The last thing he wants is an onslaught of partiers spotting Eliot and insisting he join the party. It's no surprise that he didn't do it perfectly, but only Margo seems to notice them, catching Quentin's eye and nodding proudly as they head up the stairs.

They resume kissing once they're inside with the door closed, but soon Eliot is pulling away, wincing. He runs a hand through his own hair with a look of disgust. "God, how can you even want me like this? I feel disgusting. Mind if I use your shower?"

Quentin tries not to look pleased at that. He figured the shower was something he'd have to talk Eliot into after everything else. "Of course. Take your time." As Eliot pulls away, he can't help but add, "And it doesn't really matter what you look or feel like, I mean, I kinda always want you."

That earns him another kiss, Eliot coming back into his arms and pressing his lips fervently against Quentin's. "I'll be back."

Eliot leaves the bathroom door cracked while he starts up and enters the shower, a clear invitation he doesn't intend to take. What he does instead is step inside to grab Eliot's clothes, leaving behind a too-long pair of his own sweatpants for Eliot to wear after. Steam is already starting to billow out of the shower by the time he steps out quickly, going to drop Eliot's clothes in the wash before heading back.

Margo catches him at the bottom of the stairs as he makes his way up to his room. "How's he seem?"

"Exhausted. But you were right, I guess sex was his biggest motivator. I'm gonna try to convince him to get some sleep though, while I have him here."

Margo rolls her eyes. " _You're_ his biggest motivator, Q. Not just sex." She presses a kiss to his cheek. "Good work. Treat him right!"

And with that she sashays back into the thick of the party, leaving Quentin stunned with his hand on the railing. He shakes it off after a moment, heading back to his room before Eliot can finish in the shower. He grabs a book and tries to read, but his mind keeps tripping over Margo's words. It's almost like she thinks… but no, he's not that lucky. Eliot will be back to his old self, flitting from person to person, once this thesis project is done. And then—Quentin almost can't make himself think the thought—he'll be done with Brakebills, off to his next great adventure.

The water shuts off, and Quentin forces his eyes to focus on the book in his hands. He can worry about the future later; for now, he's got more pressing goals. Eliot steps out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair and sporting Quentin's sweatpants low on his hips. Despite how long they are on Quentin, they still don't quite reach Eliot's ankles.

"How do you feel?" Quentin asks as Eliot flops down on the bed.

Eliot yawns widely, which is as good an answer to the question as any. Quentin sets aside his book as Eliot stretches out like a cat. "I needed that, thank you," Eliot says warmly, leaning into Quentin's space to bring their lips together.

Quentin crawls on top of Eliot, positioning his ass over Eliot's cock as they continue to kiss. Eliot hums into the kiss, rocking up against Quentin, but then he pulls away to yawn. Quentin hides a smile and pretends not to notice as Eliot returns to the kiss, turning up the heat. But another thirty seconds go by and he's yawning again.

"God, I'm so sorry. I swear it's not you."

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Quentin suggests, mentally cheering. "We can pick this back up when you wake up."

Eliot hums, considering. "You know something I've always wanted?"

A thrill shoots through Quentin at the thought of doing something for Eliot that he's never had before. "What?"

"To be woken up by someone's mouth on my cock," he says, tracing a finger over Quentin's lower lip. Quentin shudders, pulling Eliot's finger into his mouth and sucking. "Yeah," Eliot says, eyes half-lidded. "God, it would be amazing to wake up to you." Quentin's tongue chases Eliot's finger as he pulls it away.

"I can do that," Quentin says, surprised by the huskiness of his own voice. He clambers off of Eliot, settling down next to him on the mattress and turning to face him. "I really want you to get some sleep, so. Consider it a reward."

A grin slides across Eliot's face; he's already repositioning a pillow more comfortably under his head. "Lucky me," he murmurs, eyes slipping shut.

Quentin has to take a deep breath a few moments later, when he can already see the steady breaths of sleep coming from Eliot. He rubs a hand tentatively over his cock, wondering if he can talk himself down or if he should do something about his erection. Now that he's officially achieved his goal of getting Eliot to take a break, to actually get some rest, the low thrum of arousal he's been living with since he kissed Eliot in the study room comes to stark attention.

He feels weird jerking off with Eliot practically comatose next to him, so he slips into the bathroom, where the air is still humid from Eliot's shower. He slicks up his hand and works his cock fast and hard, letting himself believe, at least for this moment, that he's not misinterpreting the signals, that Eliot really can be his. Even overworked and exhausted, Eliot still looked at him like he wanted to devour him, and it's with that mental image that Quentin muffles a moan and spills over his fist.

He slips on a fresh pair of boxers and returns to bed, finding Eliot curled up on his other side, facing away as Quentin settles in. Smiling, Quentin tosses an arm around his middle and snuggles up behind him. Sleep comes easy after that.

***

When Quentin wakes up, limbs tangled up with Eliot's, the light coming in through the window tells him it's well into the morning hours. He carefully extricates himself from Eliot's hold and rolls over to check the time. 11:13. Damn. He hasn't slept in so late in months, and he's not the one who'd been working himself to death. He remembers Eliot's suggestion with some excitement, but he's torn about waking Eliot up. He decides to compromise, reading by the light of the window for a little over an hour while Eliot continues to sleep like the dead. It's not until Quentin notices him roll over in his sleep that he thinks he's probably closer to a natural wake-up. And luckily his recent movement has put him on his back, which makes Quentin's next move even easier.

He pulls back the sheet, which Eliot had already half-kicked away, and then carefully pulls at the elastic to ease the band of his sweatpants down below Eliot's dick. He starts to salivate just looking at it; he so rarely gets to appreciate Eliot's dick while it's soft, and he'd be lying if he said he's never thought about sucking him to hardness before. He does a quick tut to warm his right hand, sliding it softly over Eliot's length before lowering his mouth onto the warm flesh.

It's a rush, being able to take in so much of him right off the bat, his own cock throbbing already just from the anticipation of Eliot's reaction. He sucks lightly, already feeling Eliot's body responding, even though he hasn't made a sound. It's not long, though, before he hears a moan and a murmur, Eliot's hips shifting as he grows against Quentin's tongue. _Fuck_ but it feels good, feeling Eliot's cock responding to his precise movements, hardening while Eliot is still blinking himself awake. Quentin pulls off to approach Eliot's dick from the side, licking messily to get him good and wet before returning to suck at the crown, pressing his tongue against the underside and marvelling at the way Eliot's body and cock respond to him.

"Oh my _god_ ," Eliot grits out reverently, his voice still rough with sleep. His fingers make their way into Quentin's hair, gripping lightly as Quentin sinks further down his length. "When I suggested this I really didn't know it would feel like _this_ , fuck, _Q_ ," he says, his voice tripping over the pronunciation of his nickname, making it sound melodic. "You're the stuff dreams are made of, baby."

Quentin groans around Eliot, his own cock responding to the praise; it only makes him that much more eager to please Eliot. He pulls off to help Eliot out of his sweatpants, settling more comfortably between his legs as he returns. He grips the shaft in his fist, pumping over him in tight strokes as he shifts his mouth down, nudging Eliot until he spreads a little and he can play with his balls, sucking one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, and then repeating the action with the other.

By the time Quentin shifts back, taking Eliot's dick in deep, Eliot is fully awake, in both mind and body. His fingers tighten in Quentin's hair, spitting out praise that has Quentin rubbing against the mattress to ease his desperation. "That's it. Give me your mouth. _God_ , it's my favorite thing. You're so _good_."

And, well. Quentin can hardly deny him, if it's his _favorite_ thing. He rubs at Eliot's thighs as he finds a good angle that allows him to bob over his dick, taking him deep with every other movement. When Eliot shouts out a warning, Quentin braces himself, sucking and swallowing while Eliot writhes underneath him. It's wonderful every time, to feel Eliot come apart, to know that he was the one to do it.

When Quentin shifts back to his spot opposite Eliot on the bed, Eliot grins at him brightly. He reaches out to press two fingers against Quentin's jaw, tilting his head as he sits up and brings their lips together. Quentin suppresses a whine as Eliot's tongue slides past the crease of his lips, the motion full of promise.

Eliot is still cradling his head in his hand when he pulls back. "So that may have exceeded my wildest fantasies."

"Really?" Quentin asks dubiously. This is _Eliot_ after all.

"Well, maybe not my _wildest_ ," Eliot answers, laughing. "The point still stands. You are so much better than what I can even imagine." He rubs his other hand over the hardness between Quentin's legs, making him bite his lip. "Let me return the favor."

And Quentin wants that, so much, but. "Can I, um, ask you something first?"

"Of course baby, anything you want," Eliot murmurs, pressing a kiss behind Quentin's ear. Quentin has to shut his eyes and will himself to focus.

"Can I—I mean, this might be, like, overstepping our unspoken boundaries, so just—tell me, if it is." He takes a deep breath. "You keep assuming I want to be with other people, and I told you that I don't. So, like. Do _you_ want any other partners?"

Eliot tenses, and Quentin gets a sinking feeling. God, this was a terrible idea. The worst timing. Eliot shouldn't have to worry about letting him down easy right now. He pushes down his dread and says, "It's okay if you do, I mean, we never said, so you don't—"

"Shh," Eliot says, pressing a finger to Quentin's lips. "Just give me a second."

Quentin nods, trying not to squirm as Eliot looks at him seriously.

"I don't," Eliot says slowly, withdrawing his hand. "Want any other partners. It's just, uh, the last person I had the 'exclusive' talk with was Mike."

Oh shit. "I hate that guy," Quentin says, feeling a fresh wave of rage for anyone who would dare to even _think_ about cheating on Eliot. "He's a piece of shit. He didn't deserve you."

"Right on all counts," Eliot says, smiling softly. "I'm sorry I hesitated. I'd be honored to be all yours."

A shudder runs through Quentin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eliot confirms, leaning in to kiss him. "Gotta admit, I was 99% sure I'd lost you already."

Quentin blinks at him, bewildered. "Why?"

"You kept showing up at my door, and I wouldn't, _couldn't_ let myself get distracted, even though I hated turning you away. And then you stopped coming, so I thought, well, I'd finally scared you off."

The fact that he wasn't alone in his longing every time he left the library with his shoulders hunched eases Quentin a bit. "I don't scare that easy."

"Good."

"And I promise not to distract you again, while you're working. Unless you want me to."

Eliot smiles. "Soon I'm going to figure out this thesis project, and then I'll have time to be the boyfriend you deserve." Quentin bites his lip on a smile. _Boyfriend_. "But I don't have to head back just yet. I wanna get you off. What can I do for you?"

Quentin licks his lips, his eyes fixated on Eliot's mouth. "Can I get your tongue? Inside me?"

Eliot grins wickedly. "Of course you can."

Eliot pulls Quentin's boxers off, tossing them aside before sliding a pillow under his ass and performing the necessary prep spells. Quentin watches his fingers in fascination, loving the controlled way he moves them, both to perform magic and make Quentin feel amazing. Eliot winks at him before leaning down to suck at the head of Quentin's dick, bringing him fully hard again as he teases a finger over his perineum.

"Please, Eliot," Quentin whines, needy with anticipation. "I want it."

"Don't worry, I've got you," Eliot says, shifting back to lay on his side of the bed. "Come here and kneel over my chest."

Quentin's brain short-circuits, and it takes him a few seconds to start moving, to actually do what Eliot has asked. As he clambers over, putting his _ass in Eliot's face oh god_ , Eliot kneads at his muscle for a moment and then licks one long stripe over Quentin's hole.

They'd done this once before, at Encanto, as a prelude to Eliot fucking him. Quentin remembers thinking that he could definitely come just from this, but they'd had another destination in mind. Now, though, Eliot knows it's what he wants, and he seems ready to make sure Quentin gets it. He repeats the motion, the touch of his tongue fleeting but filling Quentin with anticipation.

Quentin expects him to do it again, but when he feels Eliot's tongue this time, it's a firm pressure spreading against his hole. He gasps, leaning forward to brace himself and rocking back into it.

" _Fuck yeah that's good_ ," Quentin breathes, as Eliot shifts and runs the tip of his tongue along Quentin's rim. He grips the sheet tightly in his hand as Eliot pushes his way inside, slowly at first, then fucking into him with a steady rhythm.

Eliot spreads Quentin's cheeks and moves in deeper, drawing moans from Quentin with every swipe of his tongue. Quentin is achingly hard and leaking onto Eliot's chest when Eliot asks, "Okay if I add a finger?"

"God, _please_ ," Quentin whimpers, clenching down on nothing just at the thought. Eliot presses a slicked finger against his rim, moving back in with his tongue again before pressing the finger in alongside it. He slides his way in up to the first knuckle, gliding over Quentin's prostate and making him shout.

Quentin's cock is aching to be touched, but Quentin is sure if he moves his hands from the sheets that he'll collapse over Eliot's chest. "El, please," he says, hips working to push back into Eliot's every touch. "Please touch me."

Eliot whines, his dick twitching like it might get hard again. He removes his finger but presses in hard with his tongue as his hand comes forward and _fuck_. Eliot grips him, stroking his shaft and making his dick leak even more, the intensity almost as good as a full orgasm.

"Yeah, _fuck_ , please, _faster_ ," Quentin says, fucking himself into Eliot's fist and back onto Eliot's tongue, shaking the bed frame loudly in his eagerness. He's _right there_ , he just needs a little more, and Eliot gives it to him, tightening his fist and moaning against his ass, that little bit of vibration combined with the sound of his voice sending Quentin over the edge.

His legs are shaking as he comes down, fingers flexing in the bedsheets. Eliot is still lapping against him lightly, sending little sparks of pleasure through him until he has to move away from the sensation. He flops onto his side of the bed, careless of the mess as he lets himself melt into the mattress, drunk in his post-orgasm bliss.

Eliot follows him over to press a kiss against his jaw. "I could do with another shower, if you'd like to join me. And then maybe brunch? That's a thing boyfriends do, right?"

"God, Eliot, you make me come that hard and you're already on to brunch?"

Eliot looks delighted at that. "I'm on kind of a tight timetable, unfortunately, but I don't want to leave you yet."

Right. His project. It's important that he pass. And, _god_ , did he mention the boyfriend word again? "I don't think I can stand up just yet, but you can shower. And then I'd love to do brunch."

Eliot kisses him again—a deep, emotional kiss that makes Quentin's heart feel full. "Probably for the best. If you get me hard again I may never get out of here." And with that, he gets out of bed, strutting a little as he heads into Quentin's bathroom and shuts the door.

Quentin lays there for another couple of minutes, waiting for his heart rate to go down. The past hour has seemed surreal, almost too good to be true, but it happened. He runs a hand through the mess on his belly and shudders as his mind replays the highlights. With a deep breath, he works his fingers in a tut to clean himself up, then forces himself out of bed. He's got brunch with his boyfriend to get ready for, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! <3


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